


Dreaming

by Ellav



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Bottom GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Dom Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Flustered GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, POV GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Top Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29533437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellav/pseuds/Ellav
Summary: Inspired by the time period 'Anastasia' was set in, but also a DNF fanfic, so it's a mix of the two. George being Anastasia and Dream as- you guessed it!... Demetry (super underrated disney love interest btw). Also wanted to write something like "Protected" by Aenqua which felt more like a real novel, with DNF being apart of the story, rather than the story completely revolving around DNF if that makes sense?? Also, the title is a work in progress...
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Darryl Noveschosch & Sapnap, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound/Darryl Noveschosch/Sapnap
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first attempt at a story including DNF so any feedback or critique is VERY much appreciated !!! I hope it's not too stiff with the dialogue. Anyways, enjoy :)

The room was silent. Still mulling in the temporary warmth of his silk sheets where he had slept the night before. The young prince dreaded hearing footsteps outside the comfort of his luxurious walls, coming crashing down the hallway as though it were a stampede. His pristine, white, doors, so tall they seem as though they never ended, flung open, followed after a brief, but polite knock. ‘The same as every morning really’ he thought to himself.

3 maids, came waltzing in, performing their regular routine. Two steps to the curtains, spinning as they tossed open the 9ft grand blankets, hanging grandly from the sky. The sunlight melted in, drowning George in a sudden wave of heated comfort. He attempted to lift the sheets over his irritable expression but was quickly counteracted as it was tugged away. He became abruptly aware what time of year it was, with the lack of material keeping him from the bitter, frozen air.

Feeling both a sense of betrayal, wanting to protest against being awoken from his slumber and a pure lack of energy, the prince let out a low, groan to signify his distaste for early mornings such as this. His life really wasn’t all that strenuous, well with everyone running around for him since the beginning of time.

Being forced out of the comfort of his large, pillared bed, however, was in fact difficult for the young boy. It was one of; if not the only, task he had to do himself. Forcing up to a seated position, he rubbed his half-closed, drowsy eyes. As his knuckles pulled gently away and looked around in disbelief.

The boy was propped up, sitting at the finest, palatial dining table he’d ever laid eyes upon. Astonished, he observed as 10, no 12, wealthy men and women ate from an extraordinary selection of mouth-watering meals, occasionally sipping red wine from crystalised glass cups. The scent of the sickly-sweet deserts, travelled to the boy’s nose, from the dessert section of the wooden bridge, stretching out for miles ahead of him. Grand cakes treats and pastries all sat, nearly untouched, just out of reach and waiting to be eaten. ‘They were having a celebration of some kind!’ he realised. Though confused, George felt safe, and a warm feeling started to arise in his chest.

Suddenly he was sat upon a chair, on a man's lap he did not recognise the face of but felt all so familiar. Standing parallel to him was a woman, with her hand placed lovingly on his right shoulder looking out at the lavish ballroom filled with men and women dancing, hand in hand. A twirling sea of regal gowns, with shades of every colour imaginable blurred together as he nestled into the man’s chest and closed his eyes.

He experienced pure happiness in this moment. So real it was almost tangible.

As the soft orchestral music continued to fill every inch of the palace, bringing the night to life, the focal point of the hall, started swinging gradually. The overly extravagant chandelier, consisting of dangling shards of glass cut ever so finely, laced with golden trimming begun, right to left. Almost unnoticeable at first, but quickly becoming a concern for onlookers. A chartreuse glow emerged, illuminating outside the windows, leaving a trail inside.

The atmosphere shifted ever so quickly as the prince felt a dagger through his heart. The air, filling, overflowing, with tension became still and cold to the touch. George remained with his eyes clammed shut as though he knew what was to unfold before the events even took place. He refused to acknowledge what was about to happen, trying to recover the remnants of the joyous feeling he’d felt only moments prior. But as he dived deeper, gripping harder, it seemed to helplessly escape his grasp. Slipping further and further away with every attempt.

He was now placed in a backroom dim light, just enough to make out the figure of a young boy standing ahead, facing him. He felt as though he could trust him though he wasn’t sure why. The boy led him towards the opposing side of the room as screams of terror and suffering came pouring in from every angle, consuming his mind. The disgusting amount of dread that washed over him with every cry, ate away at whatever sanity the prince had left.

Stealing every last drop of oxygen, he could possibly take till his lungs could no longer store it, the boy gasped, in an exorbitant state of panic. He shook his head persistently as though to expel the nightmare’s residue. Taking in several short, aggressive follow-up breaths, he sat up in his bed, hands by his side. He lifted his palm to his damp face, feeling sweat bleeding from his hairline, down to his eyebrows.

After a minute or two, his breathing steadied and mind came to a halt after racing uncontrollably. He hadn’t faced an episode like this in years, but for some reason, since the week prior to his birthday, it’d returned, more frequently than ever. It always ended the same but had been so vivid recently, almost like a forgotten memory resurfacing, infesting itself in his mind. Observing his almost pitch-black surroundings, George pushed off his coarse blanket, slightly scratching his legs on its way down to the dark oak floorboards below. Realisation set in as he saw a young child, around 3 or 4, follow him in sitting up, from his sleep.

He looked on in panic as a chain reaction occurred, with another 2 waking. He knew that he was no longer in the other world he dreamed of regularly and this became particularly apparent as he heard footsteps approaching the crooked door ahead of him, with paint peeling off the sides like dead skin. It came with aggravated purpose, getting louder with each step. Feeling his heart drop, it finally registered. He was on his last strike and was well aware of what that entailed.

The door crashed open with complete disregard for the other 3 children, still sound asleep. It opened to reveal a woman, plump and stout, wearing a tattered nightgown. She was stood in the doorway silently, motioning for George to come towards her, with her hands flapping wildly. With reluctance, he moved swiftly off his bed and into the hallway, as the floor screeched at him with each step forward. Seeing the woman up close, he immediately recognised the old hag he’d had to deal with for nearly 13 years. Susan.

Her skin was wrinkled and dry like scrunched old paper, with her expression revealing her immense distaste for the situation at hand.

“This is the LAST time you stay here!” the woman shouted in the loudest form of whispering possible.

“You will be leaving tomorrow morning.” She continued.

George’s episodes tended to wake the younger children which was always a hassle. She had told him last week, after two nights in a row, if there were to be one more ‘incident’, he was out- for good. George, half asleep and still coming to terms with what the lady had said, almost attempted to argue but was not even able to formulate a sentence. With a weak nod, he headed back inside the room, returning to his original resting position.

He didn’t feel half as bad as he thought he would. George knew this day would come eventually and feared it for most of his pitiful life, but right now it was sounding promising. Whether it was the sense of a new beginning or simply just the lack of sleep, he felt optimistic, resting his head against his worn-out pillow.

The morning that followed was filled with overwhelmingly mixed emotions. On one hand, the boy was about to venture outside of the 1km radius he’d been bound by since the ripe age of 5. It was a cold, unforgiving building in which he’d grown up, squeezed dry of any feelings of love or comfort. Children came and went. Some ran away, others got sick, but he quickly learnt not to get attached. He kept to himself for most of his life, rarely involving himself in conversations or games, unlike the other children.

Through the summer George was usually found seeking refuge from the heat, under the English Elm tree, sat 20 meters from the orphanage getting lost in his own imagination. He wasn’t one for harsh weather conditions, typically tucked away, inside, rereading the only book he could get his hands on in the colder seasons, often resulting to hiding inside the closet to get peace and quiet from the other children. It was mesmerising. The mysterious vanishing King, the powerful sorcerers, the exhilarating battles for justice and the maiden he fell head over heels for. No matter how many times he read it, he felt the same amount of excitement, as though he’d only just picked it up for the first time.

Exploring his dreams became a fixation of his around the age of 8 however this weltered away by 12, as they became further out of reach. He was becoming a young man and needed not to focus on his make-believe ideas of a world he’d never known.

George had no concept of having a family. He actually knew nothing of his life prior to the orphanage. All he knew was the story Susan had told him, that a kind old woman had stumbled across him on her way back from town, late one night, with his face buried in the snow. She took him home and fixed him up, handing him over to the closest orphanage the next morning.

He blamed himself for many years growing up. If he could just remember something… anything, as to help him find the family, he was sure was waiting for him somewhere- who else would’ve given him such a priceless brooch? He thought to himself regularly. The brooch was golden, in the shape of a circle with surrounding, precise, regal-looking arches. It resembled a flower with the centre displaying some form of symbol, as the main focus, with carefully crafted leaves curled around it. He hoped that it could be the key to reuniting him with his past, but to his dismay, he knew nothing. All he had were wildly vivid dreams.

After partially acknowledging his thoughts of concern, he focused himself to the present. ‘Mornings bring potential. Potential for a day better than the last.’ He thought in an attempt to encourage a positive outlook of what laid ahead. With so many opportunities and learning experiences stood Infront of him, he was more than ready to stride into the next chapter of his so-far, uneventful life. Adventure awaited, with feelings of fear and excitement swirling in his stomach, filling the pit that’d been missing his whole life. He was finally about to experience his own story. Be his own protagonist and charge into the battles he was to come across soon enough.

He pulled on his coat, torn across the right sleeve, and slid a light scarf around his neck. With his thick boots, from several years ago, strapped tight, choking his feet, he tugged at his navy half worn-out winter hat, with flaps protecting his ears from the temperature lurking outside the lifeless cement walls. He secured his precious brooch on the inside of his pocket, towards the left side of his chest. Taking a brief glance in the window at the end of the hall. It revealed a scared, yet ambitious young man, faintly reflecting back at him.

Making his way down the stairs and towards the front door he came face to face with the conditions awaiting him. The temperature quickly dropped as he approached it. He turned the knob and suddenly his blood ran cold. The icy air greeted him as he let out a nervous sigh, seeing his breath fly away. He strode out of the yard, struggling to lift his feet over the dense snow as he walked. Susan didn’t bat an eyelid as he passed her. She was never a mother figure to him, not even in the worst of times. He believed she didn’t have a loving bone in her body. He stood in front of the gate. Experiencing a moment of doubt, questioning where he was going or what he was going to do, but the moment of apprehension was short-lived as he pushed the corroded, metal gate wide open and marched through, not turning back for a second.

He’d been trekking through for nearly an hour before he came across a sign. The vast sea of white was confronting at first, but he’d slowly eased into it, becoming one with his desolate ocean, stretching for miles as far as the eye could see. He knew of a town close by, as Susan would travel to and forth weekly to purchase just enough food to keep him, along with the 5-9 other children from starving. “Alleriton” the sign read, with a jagged arrowhead pointing diagonally right. George was exhausted from the treacherous walk. Never having much experience with the outdoors, he was starting to realise he was way in over his head.

As he carried on, he saw something ahead, rummaging through the snow. He approached it cautiously. Heart rate only slightly climbing. To his surprise it was a little, grey kitten, so small it could fit comfortably in the palm of his hand. It looked up at him, with innocent, wide eyes observing George as he walked closer. Attempting not to aggravate the creature, he kept a reasonable distance from it. Whilst having next to no life experience, he was well aware that this animal could be wild and or vicious, regardless of how adorable it may have looked. As George passed, the cat stared in awe, with an endearing expression. ‘It didn’t seem dangerous...’ George thought, though he continued walking.

Unbeknownst to him, the kitten had energetically jumped to it’s feet and began trailing behind him, resembling a mother duck with her children following behind in assembly fashion. The pair continued for several minutes before George promptly swung around after hearing a faint, “meow” escape the kitten’s tiny mouth. To his surprise, stood behind him was the little cat from earlier. He realised it had taken a liking to him, seeing him as its mother figure. George thought of this as a compliment.

“What are you doing out here, following little old me?” he chuckled, directing his comment towards the cat, whose head tilted, signifying it’s confusion. It looked at George as though he were very peculiar.

“Are you lost too?” he continued in a teasing tone, half expecting a response and half coming to terms that he was making conversation with a cat.

George briefly heard shouting, followed by hard-hitting footsteps, growing rapidly louder. He spun around in a panic, in just enough time to see a man leap through the dense forest he’d been avoiding along his clear path.

The man looked as though he’d been running for quite some time though not panting for air, with his hands only slightly resting on his knees as though he were almost unbothered. He had ruffled, dirty blonde hair with piercing, deep, forest green eyes, focused on the cat by Georges side. As George examined the man, he saw his pale grey, half unbuttoned, collared shirt slightly damp from the sweat dripping down his chest. Not registering how long he’d been staring, the man jokingly clarified

“Were you talking to my cat?” breaking the silence, as he readjusted his stance, standing upright, tucking in where his shirt had been hanging out. He had an accent unfamiliar to George.

“No” he replied defensively, completely caught off guard.

The man chuckled. George wasn’t sure why he denied it.

“Right... so either you’re crazy or I’m blind, because I'm not seeing anybody else around here...” He half-joked, trying to hook him in

“And seeing as I can see you perfectly clear, my bets on the second option”

He seemed somewhat cocky, arrogant and endearing all at the same time, yet he’d spoken fewer than 10 words to him, George thought, becoming quickly flustered.

“I’m not crazy” he took the bait.

The corner of the man’s mouth pinched as he drew a grin. He felt a sense of satisfaction in riling up the short, weak-looking, pale man with chocolate brown hair stood in front of him, however he quickly relived the tension

“The name’s Clay” he declared.

“And you are...?”

It took George several seconds to register a response was required.

“Oh, it’s uh- George.” He nodded.

“This little lady here is Patches” Clay introduced, as he walked over, gently picking up the kitten that had previously been following George earlier. It looked so safe and comfortable resting in his carefully placed hands.

“That cat will be the death of me.” He heard another voice groan as a slightly shorter, more built man approached the pair, emerging from the thick wall of trees and bushes. He had medium to light brown hair and looked slightly more exhausted than Clay. He took a minute, regaining his breath, oblivious to George’s presence. When he composed himself, he turned, looked Patches dead in the eyes and said,

“You’re lucky you’re still around.” George seemed somewhat concerned by this statement.

“He’s not the biggest fan of pets” Clay clarified, friendly tapping his hand on the man’s shoulder.

“This is George.” He announced, directing a hand in George’s direction.

“Nick” he responded, nodding his head with a polite smile still attempting to quietly return himself to a relaxed state.

George assumed they’d been chasing Patches through the forest for a while at least, but somehow, Clay seemed perfectly at ease. George could infer from his lean, muscular physique that he was athletically inclined.

“So, you mentioned you were lost?” Clay followed up, continuing the conversation.

“No, actually I'm not lost” George replied,

“I know where I need to go, just don’t know what my plan is when I get there.” Somewhat confidently sharing.

“And where would that be?” Clay inquired.

“Alleriton.” He announced.

Several moments of silence followed as he saw the wheels in the stranger’s head-turning, as a lightly concerned expression, morphed into a confident smirk.

“We’re actually headed that way right now” Clay responded.

Nick unknowingly let his obvious confusion seep through and attempted to protest, but before he got the chance, he was interrupted.

“It’s really not that far from here. Just along this path and down the hill.” Clay insisted.

George was surprised, but pleased by the cocky, yet generous strangers offer. He could use some company and or guidance. Nick remained oddly silent, processing his friend’s words. George politely agreed with a simple

“Why not?”

It was settled.

The four of them would make their way into town.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! That's the first chapter. I hope to take it on a more eventful journey, this was basically just to introduce George's background and set the structure I guess. If anyone is actually interested I would definitely like to continue it for fun! Anyways, hope you enjoy. Again any and all comments or critiques are super helpful!! Thanks <3


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